


be your confessional

by WhereverMyWay



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (it's vaping but there's no vape tag), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Cheating, Cults, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Past Sexual Assault, Pining, Possible Corruption?, Profanity, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Rituals, Skin picking, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMyWay/pseuds/WhereverMyWay
Summary: It's been ten years since Changbin left the cult he was born into. He's been desperately trying to become a normal member of society, but sometimes it proves to be difficult. He has a normal office job, a normal roommate, and a normal life. At least he wastrying.-this ficsoundsa lot darker than it is. most of the dark things happened in the past and is briefly discussed/observed.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	be your confessional

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer: this is a work of fiction!** any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.
> 
>  **additional disclaimer:** I'm not against religion or anything, and this is not directed towards any religion in particular. just kinda had the idea of two guys running away from cults/oppressive religions and finding happiness or something.
> 
> hope y'all like this one. yeah, it's another minbin fic, but... ehhhh it's a christmas present to me i guess.

“Would you stay still? The Mark is going to come out imperfect if you keep moving.”

The voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, making Changbin nauseated just hearing it. He couldn’t help but twitch as the tattoo machine etched black lines into his skin, black ink and blood blending as the tattooist wiped at his chest. 

To most sixteen-year-olds, getting a tattoo so early was a sign of rebelliousness, something to be envied by others. To Changbin, however, this was not a tattoo he would wear with pride. The X, surrounded by four triangles and enclosed in a circle, was something he felt shameful over. 

“The X means you are nothing. You must follow the four principles: morality, service, responsibility, and submission to be whole, much like the circle. That is The Mark.” 

The words hurt more than the tattoo being carved into his sternum. Everyone in their fellowship was forced to get The Mark at sixteen, if born into it, or when they were deemed worthy after joining. 

Changbin didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be marked with a brand that rendered him unworthy, as nothing more than a pawn to some bullshit deity that some power-hungry man came up with fifty years ago. He loved his parents, he truly did, but he never understood why they fell for the words that The Leader spat out every week. The Leader wasn’t even charismatic; perhaps his parents were just vulnerable and stupid.

It didn’t matter.

“Wear your Mark with pride, Son,” The Leader whispered in his ear, continuing to dig his nails into Changbin’s wrists. “You are one with The Universe, one with Us, one with Me. Together, we are one in responsibility.”

“One in morality,” the tattooist nodded.

“One in service,” his father continued.

There was a pause as Changbin tried to choke back tears. He knew he had to complete the oath, but the lump in his throat and the burning of the skin on his chest made it difficult. The Leader cleared his throat, digging his nails into Changbin’s skin further, until he cried out and shook his head. “One in submission!”

One in submission.

Fuck submission.

* * *

Changbin nearly fell off of his bed as he thrashed awake. He was unable to make sense of his surroundings, trying to calm his rapid breathing and focus his eyes on something, on _anything._ He hated this nightmare; it haunted him for years, and they were increasing in frequency again.

It was irrational, but he needed to make sure. Changbin kicked his sheets off of him, untangling his legs from the prison his sheets tried to trap him in. As he made his way to his feet, he tore off his shirt, haphazardly throwing it somewhere across his room. 

He needed to make sure.

Moving towards the washroom was mechanical, automatic. He did this so many times, waking up in the middle of the night to run off and check his skin. It was 37 steps from his bed to the sink. 37 steps to security. 

Step 35: collide with the door.

Step 36: turn the light on.

Step 37: stare at the tired reflection in the mirror.

A wave of relief washed over Changbin as he stared at the dark raven that sprawled across his chest, wings touching the tips of his shoulders and the open beak pointed up towards his left shoulder. It held a deep meaning to him, but it was more important that it completely covered up that stupid fucking mark. 

It hid away the years of guilt and shame, the obsession and compulsion that came along with conforming to each intricate, demanding rule that the cult ordered. The years of pain would never be totally washed away, but it was getting easier with each passing day.

“Hey,” a tired voice from the doorway startled Changbin, causing an electric jolt to course through his body. He turned his head over his shoulder and stared, blinking a few times to make sure it was really his roommate, Jisung, standing there.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sleepily mumbled, nervously rubbing the tip of his shoulder with his thumb as he nibbled on his lip ring. 

Jisung leaned up against the door, running his fingers through his vivid red hair. “You didn’t. I was already awake. Besides, it’s almost 5:30, so I figured I’d just get up and deal with the day.” They stared at each other for a moment, before Changbin turned back to look at his reflection in the mirror.

“You ever think it’s gonna stop, the nightmares?”

“Dunno,” the redhead shrugged as he met Changbin’s eyes in the mirror. “It’s been awhile since you woke up like this, though. You gonna be okay when it comes up?”

It hadn’t been long since he woke up like this, it had just been a while since Jisung woke up to Changbin acting on his compulsion. The black-haired man sighed, biting at his lip as he ran his eyes over his skin. “I’ll get over it. Hopefully he gets what he deserves.”

Jisung took a step forward, softly gripping Changbin’s shoulder and smiling at him in the mirror. “I know you will, but don’t be afraid to lean on me, dude. I’ll be here to help you through it, I promise.”

“Thanks, man,” Changbin smiled back, then looked down to his hands, staring at the hangnails and scabs that had littered his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to tear into his skin and tear away the imperfections that he had created during one of his episodes. The momentary lapses in rationality, where he would ferociously tear his nails apart, rip off hangnails, the lapses were the only thing that made the intrusive thoughts stop. 

“You wanna hit the gym early? I know you’re not gonna go back to sleep any time soon, so might as well be productive with our time.”

“Yeah,” Changbin sighed, looking at himself in the mirror one more time before he turned the light off. “Might as well.”

Ten days until the hearing.

* * *

“Good morning!” 

Fuck. Changbin tried to stealthily roll his eyes as he walked into the office. He hated the paralegal, Lee Minho. Minho was everything Changbin was not: nice, loveable, innocent, and a good church boy who was pure. Everyone loved Minho, because he was safe, an easy pill to swallow. Changbin was not an easy pill to swallow; he was covered in tattoos, ears decorated with jewellery, hard around the edges, and abrasive to most people.

“Yeah,” Changbin grunted, trying to avoid saying much else as he made his way to his office. It was too early to deal with someone so chipper, not without copious amounts of caffeine.

“Wait!” Minho called after him, and Changbin didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he stopped. He heard the shuffling of papers, and then Minho was suddenly by his side. “Mr. Bang is away from the office today, and he told me to pass off some of the _Dawson v. Doebring_ case off to you.”

“Walk and talk, then,” Changbin didn’t bother waiting for Minho to follow him. “If Chan’s out, that means we’re busy today.” There was an itch under his skin as he lost count of the steps from the front door to his office, and it made him tense.

There was a bit of a squeak that came from Minho as he followed Changbin to his office. “I’ve got your back, Mr. Seo.”

Changbin couldn’t hold back a groan as he stopped dead in his tracks. He hated when people addressed him by his last name. “Stop calling me that,” he took a step closer, getting into Minho’s face. “I keep telling you, only address me as Changbin.”

“But,” Minho started, nervously backtracking his words incoherently.

He looked at Minho with a pleading gaze, trying to not seem vulnerable. Part of him wanted to tear into Minho because they did this every week, but the pitiful look that Minho had painted on his face made Changbin feel like a horrible person. It felt like he was yelling at a child for something stupid and only out of frustration. “Please, just… don’t call me by my last name.”

Minho nodded his head and bit his lip. 

“Thank you,” Changbin sighed, turning on his heel and beelining towards his office.

“Sorry, Changbin,” Minho said, curling into himself a bit as he trailed Changbin. 

The younger man shrugged as he sat down at his desk. “Don’t worry about it, Minho. Just…” he let his voice trail off as he looked down at his stacks of paperwork. There was a lot to do before he was going to be absent for several days due to the hearing. 

* * *

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me. The leader deserves to die a slow, and painful death. Fuck this goddamned cult!”

That had earned Changbin a slap across the face from his father. 

“Blasphemy is a sin, Changbin.” Despite being furious, his father’s voice was exhausted. He tiredly grabbed a black book off of the table and passed it to the young man. “You should be grateful that The Leader accepted you back into his embrace after the stunt you pulled.”

Changbin shook his head, grabbing the book his father offered and tossed it across the room, colliding against the vase on the dining table. “He should be fucking grateful I didn’t take this to the cops.”

Another slap to the face.

The younger man licked his teeth and shot an icy glare towards his father. “You _know_ this isn’t right. You’re really going to side with that fucking monster over your own son?”

There was a painful silence that lingered in the air as they stared down one another, until his father broke the tension. He didn’t look like he wanted to say the words he had been thinking, but he repeated them anyways, his voice empty and distant. 

“One in responsibility, one in morality, one in service, one in submission.”

Changbin didn’t bother. He scoffed as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re as much of a monster as him, you know?” His mother sat on the couch, curled up into herself as she stared off in a dissociative trance, trying to remove herself from the situation. “You’re going to actively defend and dismiss the things your beloved leader has done to me? Did you forget that I’m your fucking son?”

There should have been a slap, but Changbin’s father just looked down. His expression was hard to read. There was a look of shame and a look of remorse, but his eyes were dead.

“Get out of my house.”

Changbin’s mother lifted her head, opening her mouth to say something, but nothing came to fruition.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Changbin shook his head. “I’m not living with someone that doesn’t stand up against their son being abused and assaulted for years by some fucking psychopath that thinks he’s a god.”

“Come back here!” His father demanded, but Changbin was having none of it.

He turned on his heel and tried to remain composed as tears rolled down his face. “You’re both dead to me. I hope that, when this whole fucking cult gets torn apart, you both come down with it all.”

It had been ten years since he had seen his parents last, and he would be seeing them again in ten days.

* * *

“You’re making your fingers bleed,” Minho’s voice pulled Changbin back from the depths of his memories. “Are you okay, Changbin?”

_No, I’m not okay. Never have been._

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk. “Sometimes happens when I think too hard.” Ten days. He was still partially lost in the abyss of the past, and he was afraid he’d never fully shake the vise grip that the cult had around him.

Minho frowned, setting his notepad and pen down on the desk in front of him. “Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

_No. I don’t want you to know anything about me._

“What is it?” He blotted the tissue around his fingernails until the blood was mostly gone, then dropped the tissue in the bin. 

The older man brushed his brown hair away from his eyes, and sat forward. “Is law school really worth it? How did you know it was right for you? Like, I see you and Mr. Bang spend months over these cases and part of me is interested in applying, but...”

_Fix the imperfections._

Changbin stood up, trying to fight the urge to pick at his fingers. “Can this wait a minute? I need to go wash my hands off.”

Minho nodded his head once. “Sure, sure. I’ll finish making notes on this file.”

127 steps from his desk to the washroom. He counted every step mentally as he walked. Anything to keep his thoughts away from tearing the flesh next to his fingernails off in nervousness, not until he was alone.

Step 126: open the door.

Step 127: scan the room.

It was an additional three steps to the third sink. Three was a good number. 

Changbin ran the water a bit too cold for comfort as he stuck his hands under the faucet, ravenously tearing at his hangnails, pulling them off and turning the porcelain of the sink a shade of pink for a split second. The blood would drip down, then rapidly desaturate and dissolve into the water. 

_Fix the imperfections._

He hated these thoughts. Sure, the medications he had been on helped, and the therapy appointments he sometimes went to had helped him with better coping mechanisms, but this was the only thing that made sense to him, that actually felt like there was a payoff of serotonin. Changbin didn’t tear into his skin because he liked it — it hurt, actually, and it was incredibly uncomfortable — but because his brain told him he had no other choice.

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder isn’t uncommon in cases like yours,” his therapist told him. “Children develop coping mechanisms like skin picking or excessive handwashing amongst other things to gain control in their lives when things don’t make sense and they don’t have a way to express that in a healthy manner. Anxiety disorders are common: obsessive-compulsive disorder, alcohol and/or drug use and abuse, eating disorders…”

“Fuck that goddamned cult,” Changbin whispered under his breath, his voice laden with venom. “Fuck that man, fuck my parents. Fuck all of them.”

He let the water wash over his hands until his hands started to shake from the cold. Anything to numb the pain.

* * *

“You look pale,” Minho had, again, given Changbin an unwanted statement, and the younger man gritted his teeth as he bit his tongue.

_Fuck you, too, you prudish brat._

“How’s the case review?” He deliberately ignored the concern Minho had as he sat at his desk, clasping his hands together and resting his chin against his fingers.

Minho batted his eyelashes a few times, giving Changbin a look of worry. “The case review is fine, but I don’t know if we’re going to have this ready by the end of the week.”

“Guess we’ll have to work harder.”

* * *

The men sat in silence for hours, poring over their evidence for the case. When Changbin could fully immerse himself in a case like this, it dampened the intrusive thoughts in his head. He felt somewhat normal for a little while, and it was a welcomed change.

“It’s half past two, Changbin,” Minho whined, looking up from his paperwork. “Can we take a break for now?”

It took a moment for Changbin to pull himself away from the paragraph he was on, taking a highlighter to some of the words. “I assume you want to get something for lunch, right?” He didn’t bother looking away from the document, because he didn’t want to look at Minho’s sad eyes.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” 

“Then go,” Changbin shrugged.

“You should eat something, too.” Minho leaned in on the desk, trying to get into Changbin’s line of sight. “Maybe take a break from all of this.”

“Fine,” Changbin sighed, grabbing his glasses off of his desk and adjusting them on his face. “Chan said I should be nicer to you, anyways. How about that French place down the street?”

Minho’s smile was soft, genuine. “That sounds perfect.”

Changbin hated the fact that Minho was so nice. It felt fake and unwarranted. He saw a lot of his younger self in the way that Minho acted: fake kindness, putting others before himself, a general sense of being lost. He knew that the other man was deeply wrapped up in some sort of religion that took up all of his time outside of work. 

It wasn’t obvious until Changbin watched the way he talked about his fiancée. It felt like she was a prop or a chore: just another thing for Minho to deal with.

“Hey, congrats, man!” Seungmin, the other new paralegal, had excitedly shouted one day a few weeks prior. “Finally settling down like a real adult, huh?”

Changbin poked his head out of his office door, ready to scold the paralegals for being so loud, but the look on Minho’s face distracted him. For someone being congratulated, he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he had meekly said, sinking into his shoulders a bit as he darted his eyes around. “She’s great. My parents have been pushing me to bite the bullet for months now, and this weekend seemed like it felt right.”

_Doesn’t look like it feels right._

Changbin stood in his doorway, observing the two of them chatter back and forth, watching the discomfort on Minho’s face every time Seungmin asked him questions about his fiancée. It was like he was trying to talk with a wedge of lemon in his mouth: constantly scowling and wincing. 

“We’re gonna get married in a few months,” Minho said with a sigh. “Her parents want a winter wedding, and my parents just want me to get married.”

Seungmin shifted his weight to the other foot. “Dude,” he folded his arms, his tone turning more serious. “You sure about this?”

Minho shrugged. “Yeah. It’s what I’ve gotta do. Nobody else in my community waits this long to get married and start a family.”

_Community._

Changbin tried to stifle a scoff with a fake cough when the two men noticed him standing there. “Sorry, I wanted to offer congratulations. I was also looking for the corporate notes for the _Smith v. ParaCorp_ case, Minho.”

“Oh,” Minho nodded, his face flushing as he scrambled around his desk. “Yeah, I’ve got them somewhere, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Changbin shook his head and turned to walk back to his office. “Just have them on my desk in a couple of hours.”

As much as Minho annoyed him, Changbin felt somewhat bad for him. He didn’t know the specifics of what all Minho was involved in, but it sounded deep-rooted and like he was stuck. Chan told him to try and be nicer to his paralegal, but sometimes annoyance won out over niceness, but he was at least _trying._

Somewhat.

“So,” Changbin dug into his jacket and pulled out his vape cartridge as soon as he and Minho were outside, “how’s the wedding prep going?” He eyed Minho out of the corner of his eye as he inhaled, the cherry-flavoured nicotine cloud leaving his lips a moment later. 

It was a rude question to ask, given the circumstances, but he wanted to try and confirm a theory that was burning in the back of his head, under the guise of caring about Minho’s personal life.

A theory that was slowly unravelling to be truth. Minho shrunk a bit, kicking a stray rock down the sidewalk as they walked. “It’s,” he paused, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I guess it’s going? Maria and her family are working on most of it.”

_Go figure._

“You don’t seem very excited for a man that’s about to get married.”

They walked in silence for a bit. 40 steps from the entrance to the curb. The stoplight ahead of them was red, and cars rushed past them as the air lingering between them went stagnant. 

“I’m not excited about it.” Minho’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet for Changbin to pick up on. “Not at all, actually.”

The younger man took another pull from his vape, then rolled his tongue over the stud in his lip. He should have pretended like he didn’t hear Minho, but curiosity always got the better of him. “Wanna talk about it? Sworn to client confidentiality.”

Minho scoffed, anxiously tapping the toe of his shoe against the ground. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t love her, do you?” The light turned green, the orange hand turning into a white stick figure, but neither of them moved. 

The older man looked up, his eyes glistening a bit as they stared forward. Some stranger walked past them and flipped them off, but neither of them paid the stranger any mind. “Are you actually supposed to love someone you marry, or is that some sort of fairytale? All of my friends are married and secretly miserable.”

“Dunno,” Changbin sighed, sticking his hands into his pocket as he stared at the light turn into a flashing hand. “Never been married. Never planned on it.”

“Why are you asking me this, anyways?” Minho turned to look at Changbin, a disgruntled look on his face. 

“Why did you answer me?” Changbin tilted his head a bit to the side, looking at Minho with indifference. “I figured you wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t really want to talk about it. To answer your question, though, it’s been bothering me since you announced your engagement. You looked uncomfortable when Seungmin brought it up.”

Minho didn’t answer Changbin, instead taking a hasty step forward as soon as the light flashed back to a white stick figure. 

“Wait, Minho!” Changbin reached out, practically ripping Minho’s sleeve off of him as he pulled him back from the road right as a car ran a red light, nearly running into Minho. The force of the pull knocked them onto the sidewalk, causing Changbin to land hard against the ground, barely missing his head colliding into the concrete.

Minho awkwardly laid on top of Changbin, staring down at him with terrified eyes. He grabbed the sides of Changbin’s neck and panicked. “Oh my goodness,” he whined, “Changbin, are you okay?”

_He’s cute from this angle. Fear looks good on him._

“I’ll be fine,” Changbin says, unsure of where to place his hands. He’d never been this close to another man his age. It never hit him before, but Minho was good looking. Had he not been the pure, innocent church boy type, he would have been Changbin’s type. Minho, however, was innocent and literally planning a wedding that was coming up in a few months.

“Changbin,” Minho whispered, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson. There was a strange tension between them, like the air around them was full of electricity and they were being pulled together. Minho dug his fingernails into Changbin’s neck, slowly bringing his head in closer.

_Don’t kiss the church boy._

He knew where his hands needed to be. Changbin brought his hands up to Minho’s head without even thinking twice, pushing aside the intrusive thoughts running through his head. The warmth of the older man was intoxicating as he brought their lips together.

Minho responded in kind, pushing a bit further into the kiss. They were getting strange stares, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the euphoric energy that danced around them as they kissed. He pulled away, then pressed his lips to the older man’s three times in total. 

_Stop kissing the engaged church boy._

Maybe he would make it six times. 

_Don’t kiss the engaged church boy who is probably heavily traumatized._

Nine times. Three times three for good measure.

Changbin had just literally fallen for the church boy, but he felt like he was potentially metaphorically falling for him now. Fuck the intrusive thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> consider leaving a comment. they make my day. ♡


End file.
